


The Vestige of Baudelaire House

by TinyDancingRavenclaw



Series: A Union of Radiance and Shadows is Never Simple [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Bits and pieces of the Daggerfall Covenant questline, Did no one else ever think about how strange the presence of the Vestige must be?, Elder Scrolls Online Main Quest, F/M, Gen, Like they have no soul, Mentions of mature themes, Some spoilers sorry, They'd be super terrifying to be near???, some language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-25 16:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyDancingRavenclaw/pseuds/TinyDancingRavenclaw
Summary: Five times the companions of the Vestige took notice of her lack of humanity, and the one time that they helped her retain her humanity.
Relationships: Captain Kaleen & Vestige (Elder Scrolls), Darien Gautier/Female Vestige, Darien Gautier/Original Female Breton Character(s), Gabrielle Benele & Darien Gautier, Gabrielle Benele & Female Vestige, Gwendis & Vestige (Elder Scrolls), Jakarn & Vestige (Elder Scrolls)
Series: A Union of Radiance and Shadows is Never Simple [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2210334
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. The Vestige

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not actually part of the 5-and-1. But the Vestige was called out for the things wrong with her long before she ever became the Vestige. Alternatively- Arielle considers her lack of humanity in terms of her elven blood before she has her soul sacrificed.

Arielle had always known she was strange. Her mother was Breton, therefore she stood out more than any of her peers as a child growing up in Alinor. Her father had not made the best call in moving away from High Rock. Not for her. Hell, not even for him, with the superiority complexes most often found in Altmer living in the Summerset Isles.

In Altmer society, she had no shortage of things considered "wrong" with her. She could list off near a dozen things off the top of her head that she'd been told a hundred times over as a young girl. Her skin was far too pale, not golden enough for anyone. Her ears were too round, the slight point nowhere near elven enough. She was too short, standing taller than the average Breton but still dwarfed by her father's people. She wasn't graceful enough. Her eyes and hair were the only things that weren't judged, for the fiery colors were naturally seen in the Mer as well.

As she would learn after fleeing Summerset in the aftermath of her father's untimely murder, there were things "wrong" with her in the eyes of the races of Man too. Her fair skin was alright until the sun bronzed it till it turned a tinted pale-gold, the mark of her Altmer blood. Her ears were this time too pointed, too elven. She was too tall now, her height unnatural in the eyes of the men she matched in that regard. She was too graceful rather than too clumsy. Her hair was not judged but her eyes were looked upon with fear. It was well-known that Bretons had diluted elven blood, and so that relieved her some judgement, but no Breton that was not more than that had eyes the color of burning embers.

The problems of being a half-blood in second era Tamriel, she supposed.


	2. Captain Kaleen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the captain of a sailing ship, Kaleen has seen many strange individuals in her lifetime. She was not, however, expecting the woman with stone-grey skin they fished out of the water to still have breath. And she certainly didn’t expect the woman to come to her in little more than a day's time with a perfectly healthy complexion asking about passage to Daggerfall.

-Kaleen wasn’t sure why she had given the order. Why she had told what was left of her crew to lift the strange corpse out of the water, with its strangely colored skin clashing against hair that must have once been a vibrant copper. While Nicolene ran belowdecks to gather up a sheet to cover the body, Kaleen observed the figure alongside Lambur. 

“The hell are we even doing?” She muttered, a rhetorical question that she voiced nonetheless, finding Lambur’s shake of her head the only response. Damn it all.

And it was Lambur who caught the faintest of movement, the twitch of fingers and the rise and fall of breath sure as day returning to the otherwise still form after Master Kasan’s intervention. With that realization came a harsh cursing from more than one of her crew because there was  _ no fucking way _ that a corpse was supposed to breathe. It couldn’t be necromancy because the undead did not breathe, and they rose quickly in order to heed the call of whoever raised them, which made it all the more worrying. Master Kasan also was not a necromancer, which meant the body was definitely still alive.

Nicolene returned with the sheet, only for Kaleen to hold out a hand to stop her.

“Somehow, she’s still alive. We’ll give her a few days to awaken, but if she doesn’t…”

The words went unspoken, but they all knew. If the woman did not wake up, they’d leave her to die. Unpleasant, yes, but a corpse was no good to anyone, especially not on a ship.

Calling upon Lambur to bring the woman below, Kaleen made her way onshore with the knowledge that the Orc woman would meet up with her once the stranger was situated. After all, they had to work on rebuilding their crew after the mutiny that had dropped their numbers low enough to make the crew essentially ineffective.

They returned physically empty-handed that night, to her chagrin. But their day had been far from a failure. They’d managed to gather information on individuals that could be found around the island of Stros M’Kai. All they had to do was recruit them. Jakarn, a Breton thief thrown into the Grave by Headman Bhosek, Neramo, an Altmer mage studying the Dwarven ruins of Bthzark, and Crafty Lerisa, a Breton captain whose ship was run aground by the Sea Drakes. All they had to do was get Jakarn out, and convince Neramo and Lerisa. There was no telling what the latter two would take to convince, but Kaleen was sure that there was something they could offer the two.

The following morning started out much the same as the one before it, minus the fishing of a stranger out of the water for Master Kasan to resuscitate. Kaleen took up a place on the dock, offering coin and reward for any willing to complete a few favors for her.

No one seemed terribly inclined.

The captain closed her eyes with a deep sigh, only opening them at the sound of a harsh intake of breath from Lambur, who stood just nearby. Her own sharp gasp matched it as she recognized the woman now standing before them.

“I hear that you rescued me?”

Seeing the woman sent chills down even Kaleen’s spine, but she nodded, schooling an easy, confident expression onto her face.

“Really, I just fished you out of the water. Master Kasan got you breathing again. The important thing is you're alive. But if you're feeling grateful... I could use some help.”

The woman offered her a raised brow in question. “Help?”

"A job. Anyone who helps is going to get rich. Right now I need a fresh face, someone this island's butcher-in-charge, Headman Bhosek, doesn't know and won't stop. Basically, you recruit the folks I need, you get a cut of the take. Interested? So, what do you say?"

“I’ll help. Who am I looking for?”

“The three folks I need are Crafty Lerisa, Jakarn, and Neramo. Any or all of them would do.”

The strange woman hummed to herself, then she nodded. And with that, she turned on her heel, not asking a question more regarding the three.

Kaleen stared after her discreetly, a constant ‘what the fuck’ repeating in her head at the sight. The woman, whatever her name may be, looked human enough despite a few definitely not-quite Breton features. To anyone else, it wouldn’t raise a question. But Kaleen had fished her from the sea with her skin a gray color not seen even in the Dunmer. Yet here the woman was, with skin a healthy fair tone that wasn’t terribly uncommon among Bretons.

There was something odd about this woman. Kaleen didn’t know exactly what, but she knew that there had to be some sort of reason for the unsettling feeling that surrounded her like some strange aura.


	3. Jakarn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a man of roguish nature, Jakarn had attempted to charm and woo just about anyone he came across that he wanted to do so to. He at least got a reaction out of them, be it a punch or a slap or maybe just a roll of the eyes even if he didn’t charm them. Then the Vestige rescued him from the Grave with a blank stare and an unsettling presence that reminded him far too much of undeath.

It isn’t stealing if the object was already stolen from somebody else. That was how Jakarn saw it, anyways. Unfortunately, but unsurprisingly, Headman Bhosek did not agree. So here Jakarn was, stuck beneath the Headman’s palace in this infernal prison. He’d been on Stros M’Kai more than long enough to know the stories of the wretched Grave he was currently trapped in. It was said that no one got out. No one  _ survived _ down here. He didn’t want to die down here.

He still had gorgeous men and women to charm all across Tamriel!

The problem was that even Jakarn was struggling to find a way out. The guards here weren’t quite so careless as the guards that he’d faced anywhere else. Bhosek had made sure that Jakarn didn’t have his usual equipment. His weapons and smoke and lockpicks were, naturally, within sight but out of reach. The man was absolutely certain that it had been done on purpose for the sake of taunting him.

Damn him.

Jakarn couldn’t help the way his expression pulled into an agitated sneer. It wasn’t attractive, he was certain, but it wasn’t like there was anyone worth impressing down here right now. No decent woman would get thrown in here and he knew it. Of course, that wasn’t to say that women thieves weren’t just as capable as he was, but he’d not seen any down here. They probably knew better than to steal from Bhosek though.

Damn him _ self _ .

That’s when an unfamiliar face caught his eye. Well, it was her hair that drew his attention, standing out in the dirt and grime of the Grave. It hit him just after that she wasn’t wearing a guard’s uniform, but rather a combination of crudely fashioned light and medium armor pieces.

“Hey,” he hissed, “You’re not a guard. You have to help me!”

He had not been expecting her voice to sound like it did. It was cold, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Strange, especially considering that he had never been fazed by something as simple as a cold tone of voice. But no, hers wasn’t just cold. It was empty. Hollowed out.

“Captain Kaleen sent me. She needs your help with a heist.”

Jakarn was himself for a reason, however, and he recovered quickly.

“Well that’s perfect!” he told her with his best charming grin. “Get me out of here and I’m at your service. You’ll find me a man of many talents!”

He found himself being asked if he’d really stolen a gem from Headman Bhosek, to which he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Can’t steal from a thief, can you?”

The strange woman paused then. Perhaps mulling over his words? Considering the weight and truth in what could certainly become a well-known quote throughout all Tamriel in his opinion.

“Y’know, if I found a handsome guy locked in a cell, I’d free him.”

His answer was a chillingly blank stare and the woman unlocking the door with a sort of practiced ease. She knew her way around locks and lockpicks, evidently. He could certainly appreciate that. Didn’t change that she hadn’t reacted. At all.

Not even a roll of her eyes. She just… unlocked the cell and waited for him to walk out with a stare that made him question if she was really even conscious. He didn’t ask, of course, one knows better than to do that, but still. It was a disconcerting emptiness behind her gaze.

He realized after a moment too long that he was staring. He shook it off and shifted into something characteristic for himself: a quip.

“Why thank you, fair lady. I was momentarily captivated by your beauty, but I must leave you now.”

The man ran a few steps and then vanished in a cloud of smoke. One of his signature tricks that had gotten him out of countless instances of trouble. He’d put the strange hollow-eyed woman to the back of his mind, he decided. There were certainly people waiting for him at the Screaming Mermaid that he had no intentions of disappointing.

But evidently Sai had other plans because beyond the main exit he found guards and Irien, the Altmer woman who he’d charmed prior to his arrest. He gave a snarled “shit” and then whirled back around to find another way out. Lo and behold, there was the odd woman again, having managed to somehow sneak up in  _ him _ . How, he wondered, even knowing that he’d never receive the answer. But he could certainly suspect that she might be a nightblade warrior rather than a common sneak. Considering how deftly she wielded those blades in her hands, it made the most sense.

In his defense, Jakarn was smarter than he let on. He seemed a fool at times, but he was a thief, and he hadn’t made it this far in life without a sharp mind.

“We can’t go that way,” he hissed.

“Why not?”

Mentally, he cursed. He hated her voice. Why couldn’t this woman have some  _ emotion _ . Something to make her seem human. He knew that they weren’t entirely of the races of Man—hell, Jakarn was a Breton himself, born and raised in High Rock before he wound up on this island—but she was in another category that he didn’t like.

“Irien’s out there. Oh, and guards. I saw many, many guards. Look. Let’s skip out a side exit. That way, we can both keep our heads.”

That sounded good to him. She creeped him out but that didn’t mean he wanted to die at the hands of Bhosek’s guards. No one willing to free him from this hellhole deserved that fate. She agreed to do so, and once they’d gotten away, he turned to her with a favor. Regarding the gem he’d left with goblins for safekeeping.

The woman turned her attention back to him. “Hm. Leaving something with goblins seems… foolish.”

He was quick to explain—no one would try to take it, and the goblins would kill anyone who did, nor would they trade it—and in return he received a curt nod.

“Then let’s retrieve a gem.”


	4. Gwendis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All inhuman individuals had some shared trait with the others of their kind. Being a vampire herself, Gwendis knows all too well the supernatural beings that stalk Tamriel’s provinces. And how to identify them. Yet for whatever reason, she cannot place why the Vestige—who is clearly and undeniably neither vampire nor were-creature—feels as if she too belongs to the supernatural.

Really, Gwendis wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when she put out that notice. An inquiry from House Ravenwatch, specifically, that a smiling Breton woman had accepted. At first glance, she figured the woman was merely of a line that had retained just a little more of their Direnni blood than most. As she would later come to learn, that was what most people thought. Her skin and the point to her ears lent themselves well to such a belief.

It made sense though. Bretons being the Manmer of Tamriel, the ‘mongrel race’ in the eyes of certain… supremacists. She wouldn’t have been surprised if this woman knew exactly what she meant had she voiced it. Most Bretons did, whether personally or through the stories passed down through their families. However, she did not.

It was rude to make such comments, and Gwendis was better than that.

Especially when she was trying to get help in this regard.

The reasoning behind the note left where some adventurer willing to aid them was simple. The Gray Host. That was it. Well. Not really. It wasn’t quite so simple as that, in the scheme of things, but Gwendis wasn’t terribly inclined to remind the other woman of that.

Not when she recognized something unfamiliar about her. It was simultaneously familiar in a strange way. Really, she wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

It took the completion of the task they had set out for before Gwendis managed to place it. Traces of Molag Bal hung about the woman—Arielle, as she now knew her name to be—in a way that was strange even to Gwendis. 

The Mer were long-lived as it was, as everyone knew, but as a vampire member of House Ravenwatch, she was effectively immortal. So why had she never come across this before?

She’d seen Daedra from numerous planes of Oblivion. She’d seen vampires and were-beasts and everything in-between. And yet she’d never met anyone else whose very presence carried the essence of the horrid Daedric Prince. Much less anyone who did so whilst doing everything in their power to aid the peoples of Tamriel.

Well, except for Verandis and herself and Adusa-daro and Fennorian. But they were House Ravenwatch. That was different.

They had gotten to know each other between their first meeting and their travels into Bangkorai. So she decided to pose the question as they ascended the steps of her home to speak with Count Verandis.

“Arielle. Why is it that you carry traces of Molag Bal? You clearly do not worship him, and you are certainly no vampire.”

She earned an expression that seemed simultaneously torn and amused, and it honestly confused her. Why would the red-haired Breton give her such a look?

“A long story,” Arielle told her with a dry laugh. “But it’s because he’s a claim on my soul.”

Gwendis blinked. What?

How was Arielle here? Those who had their souls taken by Molag Bal ended up in Coldharbour as soul shriven, everyone knew that. Her eyes widened in realization.

No wonder Arielle seemed inhuman. It was all there, and Gwendis cursed herself for her inability to have seen it before she followed her friend inside. She had no idea what she’d do with this information, with the knowledge that Arielle was going around saving Tamriel’s ass without a soul, but she decided it just might be worth remembering.

And perhaps it was, just not quite yet.


	5. Gabrielle Benele

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Vestige called upon her aid in battle, Gabrielle readily agreed to do so. But not even a well-learned mage such as herself could rationalize Arielle’s ability to withstand injuries that should kill her immediately. Nor can she rationalize witnessing her friend’s corpse turning briefly blue and phantasmic, only to rejoin the fight as soon as her body regained color and tangibility.

They’d faced death countless times over by now. Lost friends and soldiers and been the cause of the deaths of more than a hundred foes in their years. They were young, but youth meant absolutely nothing in Tamriel. Especially not when said continent was at war practically everywhere.

It had never occurred to Gabrielle that her red-haired Vestige friend might be immune to the laws of nature themself. That death might not be permanent for a woman without her soul.

That was until Arielle called upon her, and Gabrielle watched as an arrow lanced straight through her throat. It was… not a pretty sight. The archer—Bosmeri, a quick glance in the direction from which the arrow had flown told her—had put enough power behind the blow that the arrowhead was visible at the back of her neck.

Arielle was no fool, and her hair was secured out of her way, leaving the arrow as it quivered momentarily in full view. Gabrielle nearly retched at the sight of her friend in such a state.

And yet… she didn’t stop.

She didn’t even slow down. Instead, Gabrielle watched as a blade formed from red shadow magic flew across the battlefield and struck the archer in the chest, sending him tipping over. Exactly as Arielle should’ve done.

It took two more of their foes to bring down the Vestige. To bring down Arielle. Her  _ friend _ . Gabrielle couldn’t help the scream that tore from her throat as time seemed to slow.

Just as one of the bodies fell from a well placed stab to the gut, the blade of the second warrior went through Arielle’s head as if it were butter. Oh Divines, there was so much blood.

It had been a low uphanded strike, up beneath her lower jaw, trapping Arielle’s mouth in the formation of whatever cry she’d been about to let out before it was replaced by gurgling and choking on her own viscous blood. It had gone inward, up and through the Vestige’s head. The sound of the blade being retracted was disgustingly wet and bloody and Gabrielle did actually retch this time, but not before a well placed shot from her staff took the life of the man who had the audacity to do this to her friend. She knew, logically, that he wouldn’t have cared. They were just objects in the way of whatever stupid, illogical goal he and his allies had been after.

They’d just inadvertently taken the life of one of their last hopes for the survival of the whole of Tamriel. The one who’d saved their lives not but so long ago. It felt to Gabrielle like something had been torn out of her, and emotions roiled beneath the surface in a churning sea that she was loath to face even now that the danger had passed.

Her only comfort came in the knowledge that perhaps in death, Arielle would be able to see Darien again. 

She closed her eyes to offer a prayer to the Divines in askance that they look after Arielle. Now that the woman had regained her soul, Gabrielle hoped that maybe the Divines would take her to a place better than any of the Planes of Oblivion.

She didn’t know it yet, and she wouldn’t for another few years, but there was some bitter oxymoronic nature to those two thoughts, considering the fate that truly befell their knightly friend.

Half a minute passed, with Gabrielle opening her eyes when she heard movement somewhere in front of her, only to resist the urge to scramble backward.

Before her, she found that Arielle’s corpse had done something that corpses most definitely were  _ not _ supposed to do. It wasn’t necromancy, the body wouldn’t resurrect like this, she knew enough to know that, but it definitely wasn’t natural either.

The corpse had turned blue, and her hand passed right through when she reached out to touch. Phantom-Arielle’s head turned to her with the action, but no words came out.

What sort of strange magic was this?

Gabrielle had never seen it and it was frightening and fascinating all at once. Another once-over led to a new realization. In this phantasmic form of hers, Arielle’s wounds seemed to close, no, they  _ did _ close, the skin stitching itself back together—not a pleasant sight—and the blood seeming to fall in reverse. It wasn’t but a few moments later that there was an odd sound, and Arielle was back to standing in her own two feet.

She knew that her friend was the Vestige, sure, but was this a normal soul shriven returned to Tamriel sort of thing?

Arielle’s laughter drew her from her thoughts, and she cast a confused look at the other woman, brows furrowed and mouth drawn and all.

“I just chalk it up to Daedric influence so long as I have filled soul gems,” the redhead shrugged, and then she was jumping right back into the fight. Blood still stained her jerkin from where it had dropped from her throat and beneath her jaw. The only signs of the injury she’d sustained were the pale markings from where the blade and the arrow had pierced through the skin.

Gabrielle was still shocked as Arielle carved twin slashes into the torso of the last foe, then returned to her side so they could continue onward.

“You alright, Gabrielle?”

The woman shook her head to clear her thoughts. She could question everything later.

“Uh. Yeah. Let’s keep going so we can get out of here.”


	6. Darien Gautier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days before the (former, he must remind himself) Vestige is set to join him in the Meridia-sanctioned assault on Nocturnal, Darien wakes up to Arielle in his arms and memories of a night well spent (in his humble opinion). With the woman he’s come to love still fast asleep at his side, the knight errant of the Fighters Guild turned Golden Knight of Meridia takes a quiet moment to reflect upon her. He finds his thoughts drawn to the odd qualities in her eyes.

It took a special kind of fool to be unaware that Arielle, the Vestige who had regained her soul, wasn’t quite human. Hadn’t been and somehow still wasn’t. Darien wasn’t that kind of fool, and he never had been. He wouldn’t have risen to become Captain of the Camlorn Guard all those years ago otherwise.

The man knew that Arielle was just that little bit more elven than the rest of them, and he could name those visible qualities from memory. They were ever-present, in her skin and her ears and her height and her eyes. Beautiful, each of them, in his opinion, no matter the grievances that assholish men and mer had given her over them.

His thoughts caught on her eyes.

They’d been… strange, in a sense, for as long as he’d known her.

Darien was far from the first man to notice that her eyes were strange, as she’d told him years ago, long before Meridia claimed him as the Golden Knight. He was far from the first to notice that they were the color of flames, but he’d been told he was the first to notice that a silvery blue sheen that overtook them in the right lights.

That had been especially prevalent in Coldharbour.

Arielle had stood before him and asked that he accompany her through the Endless Stair—which he gladly accepted—and when he met her gaze, he had seen that the golden orange of her irises was dulled, covered, rippled from gold into silver in the strangest of ways. He had no idea what had caused it.

He hadn’t mentioned it right then. Darien waited until after they stood over the bodies of yet another trio of Daedra, well out of earshot of anyone else, to bring it up. Arielle had already told him of her status as the Vestige, and it wouldn’t have surprised him if that were the reasoning.

The man had seen the silvery sheen turn to disconcerting blue as he split off to accompany Gabrielle. As Arielle had offered the both of them a tight embrace borne from the relationships she’d forged since they first met in Camlorn. They had accepted them with the knowledge of the chance that any or all of them could die here. How no one else caught it, he didn’t know. Or perhaps they had caught it, and he just wasn’t around to witness it.

An unpleasant thought, yes, but it had also been one that had held true when he hadn’t come back at the end.

Darien shook that thought away and turned his attention to the woman still fast asleep in his arms. This was surely the most peaceful that he had ever seen Arielle and he wasn’t about to complain as he drank her in. It wasn’t greedy, not like the night before, but calm and slow and came with the emotion that he had for so long tried to avoid.

Love in Tamriel was dangerous, and he had been warned of such for the longest time from any number of people. ‘You are more likely to lose them in your first year than to grow old with them’ his father had told him once, his eyes sad with some long lost love. Perhaps Darien’s mother? No. He knew that was not it now.

His thoughts skipped forward to recall the events that had led them here. Meridia claiming him as her Golden Knight. Arielle being there and trying to reach out to him as he was dragged through a portal into the Spiral Skein. Arielle saving him from Mephala’s realm.

Arielle saving him from Mephala’s realm… with eyes that burned like fire instead of embers. She had her soul back now, but her eyes had burned blue like the flames of Coldharbour. Golden-orange had zeroed in on his captor and in a single rippling moment of silver they had turned wholly and unnaturally blue. He hadn’t any more time to observe because she was in motion by the time he blinked, launching herself toward the Daedra with a war cry he wouldn’t have expected from her, or from anyone without Nordic blood. Her companion—an Altmer woman he later learned was a Psijic named Valsirenn—had Arielle’s back from a distance, her magic flashing into existence to do… well, he really hadn’t been entirely sure what at the time.

He’d been told afterward that one of the many spells Psijics could cast caused time to pause for a brief few seconds within a shimmering blue and gold dome.

It had allowed Arielle to stab and slash at the Daedra without fear of retaliation for that little bit of time. It was plenty enough for her. Darien caught glimpses of blue throughout the fight, he thought, but when the Daedra was no more than a corpse at her feet and Arielle came forward to burn the webbing off of him, he wondered if he’d been hallucinating.

Her eyes were their usual golden-orange when she stood just in front of him, her eyes frantically scanning over him from head to toe, for what he didn’t know. She’d never elaborated either. And he had most certainly asked her to.

He’d only seen the shift one other time. Their time spent hunting down the Heart of Transparent Law along Ritemaster Iachesis and Valsirenn saw the woman joining him in defending Valsirenn as Iachesis was tossed like a ragdoll between Daedric Princes. He’d only brought it up once, after the first of the instances.

When Valsirenn had led him to Psijic healers, he had furrowed his brows as he limped after her. “You’re a Psijic,” he had stated, receiving a deadpan look. He knew he’d stated the obvious, done it on purpose, even. He wasn’t that stupid.

“Arielle’s eyes. You saw them change too, right? From orange to blue when she was fighting Mephala’s Daedra to free me?”

Valsirenn sighed. “She was facing away from me, knight. No, I did not see it.”

“Then do you have an idea of why they might have?”

Another sigh. More irritated this time.

“No. Perhaps it has to do with her time as a soul shriven come to Tamriel. I don’t know _. Now stop asking questions. _ ”

He had quieted then, and he had never quite gotten his answer. Perhaps he could ask Arielle?

The woman in question shifted next to him, stretching her limbs with a yawn, though she hadn’t yet opened her eyes. Would she be upset at him for this? For what they did last night? He didn’t  _ think _ so. But he never quite knew with Arielle. With any woman, really. Considering this wasn’t out of boredom, he wasn’t sure what to expect-

“What’s this? The handsome, ever-so-dashing Sir Darien overthinking something?”

His eyes grew wide as he looked at her, meeting eyes that rippled silvery blue as she teased him. It was different from before, he observed, in the almost lazy way it crossed them, there one moment and gone the next. He still had no explanation, but it hit him then that he didn’t truly care enough for one.

Darien had her. Whether her eyes shifted strangely with her rage or her amusement or anything in between, she was still Arielle. His Arielle, if what she’d whispered to him between sleepy kisses before they fell asleep meant anything at all. It was a two way thing, though, and he would be all too happy to give himself to her just the same. He had promised himself someday he would offer himself to her, and ask for her hand in the process, back when he was trying everything in his power to leave the Colored Rooms so he could walk Tamriel once more. No one would’ve quite expected that from him before.

She laughed softly, and pressed a kiss to his cheek as she sat up. They had work and preparations to be done, he knew. That didn’t mean he wanted to move.

“Ah, couldn’t we stay in bed for just a little while longer?” He whined, pouting just a bit.

Another laugh. Another chaste kiss, this time to his lips.

“I wish we could, darling. But y’see, Artaeum doesn’t have any taverns, so I’d like to return to Tamriel to go to one. And you never did buy me that drink you promised so long ago-” she trailed off with a light hum, and this time it was Darien’s turn to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled, “I’ll buy you all the drinks you want after all this is said and done.”

He had more ideas than just buying her a drink once this whole Nocturnal mess was dealt with, but he found no need to worry over them now. They had to survive this first. But perhaps his father would still have that old Amulet of Mara he’d so coveted? Darien had found someone he would be all too happy to spend his life with now after so many years of having no interest in settling down. Not that he actually expected they’d settle down. 

He knew the red haired woman he'd come to love couldn’t stay in one place for long. They’d probably never settle down, living their lives as an adventurer and knight until they were too old and grey to continue.

Darien smiled to himself as Arielle got out of his bed and set to brushing out her hair and slipping on her armor, making himself a mental note to write a quick letter to his father before they went after Nocturnal. He would not forget this, not as he had forgotten so many things in the past. Besides, he was sure his father would surely love to hear of his son’s new plans.


End file.
